Praetor
by CassiusTroy
Summary: The events surrounding the death of Pollux and his eventual rebirth, SWTOR era OC.
1. Chapter 1

Beautiful. Completely and utterly beautiful in every sense of the word. The brilliant neon lights of the Nogatan cityscape extended beyond the horizon, where cold Axiom steel met the sanguine dusk sky. It was an image that would forever be imprinted in his mind's eye; the flawless vista that could extend as far as the eye could see, marred only by the enveloping plexiglas window of the elevator.

Crossing his arms, they grey-eyed man shifted his weight against the dense viewing port and rolled his head back until crown of his head touched something solid. His figure was that of a man who carried the weight of a world on his shoulders, perhaps moreso. A weight that threatened to break him in two. Hard lines beyond his years had formed at the corners of his eyes, lines created out of the pragmatism that had been demanded of him in the past weeks. Sadarii and he now openly rebuked one another, blood had been spilled, and more was sure to spill in the days to come. Then it was only a matter of time before the de facto pseudo-Emperor retaliated en masse. Like an animal, he would be goaded out into the open, if only to offer the hunter a cleaner and more precise kill.

No number of ill-attempted machinations or turncoats could keep Pollux from his goal, the usurper would simply die. It was no more complex nor simple than that. Certainly it could be said there were personal motives, and it would go without saying that he disagreed with the man on countless ethical and moral levels, but these did not come into play.

As a man, Troy believed in the divinity of the Axiom. He believed it had a destiny and a purpose that went beyond what the average man could grasp. It was an autocratic regime of proud men and virtuous women, the needs of the individual always came after duty to the state. In this sense, he was a patriot. And proud one, at that. Not to say that he was single-minded in his devotion. He held his own ambitions, aspirations and would go to even greater lengths to see them realized than perhaps even the most fork-tongued Sith the temple produced.

But he would not compromise himself in the process.

He had gone to a great, many pains to find the weak links in Vakar's ramshackle foundation on which he attempted to build this new, and from Pollux's view, dystopian society which was rapidly coming into conflict with the old. Lydeck was alive, he was alive and that fact alone would turn the entire tide of this civil war. Several pricks in the right places would see the revolutionaries falter, then it would simply take a strike to the head. But like all things, measures had to be taken.

With skilled coercion, several of Sadarii's lowly Krullian converts and non-commissioned officers had provided necessary information. Critical troop and fleet movements, blockaded entry ports, munitions stockpiles, all of which was required to optimize this final, decisive strike that would see a return to political normalcy on Nogatan. The grey-eyed General had roamed the city's underworld for weeks, committing what could only be called petty treason to provide this means to an end.

It wouldn't be long now; this informant would provide another proverbial piece of an ever-growing puzzle in an all too important race to see who could complete it first. Yet even now he found himself.. troubled. His mind seemed to pull in a dozen different directions as he stepped out of the elevator and broke into a brisk stride, his designation being the apartment at the end of the hallway. It wasn't long before he reached it. Salt and iron, blood, the scent seeped from every crevice of the door, through the rusted hydraulics, it assailed his augmented senses with a very practical malice. Something had gone wrong, very wrong. Reaching to the small of his back, the grey-eyed fellow slipped a single index finger though the trigger guard of a lone pistol, which he drew up and under the jacket draped over his right arm. His free hand worked in slow, deft motions.

A keycard's swipe had gained him entry to the dark interior of the apartment complex. After several moments, he found it quite apparent that he was not the only person in the room. Some slight shuffle in the darkness, a scent..

Feminine.

Familiar.

It was faint, mixed in with the rancid backwash of the nearby gore, but it was there. The jacket no longer hang over his arm, but tossed aside on a nearby table; he brought the gleaming silver weapon eye-level. A menacing shadow clung to his frame.

"Show yourself," said the grey-eyed man.

Pollux stood where he was; the only movement from his body was in his arm, his thumb jerked forward and back in a single motion. A metallic click broke the silence, indicating the pistol's hammer had been drawn and ready to deal death to the first being its barrel was directed at. Leaning forward out of the darkness, a cloaked figure brought its hands to the hood that concealed its face, drawing it backwards..

The woman was Sovereign Protector Winter Tel'ana.

She was clearly shocked to see him here, but he himself was unsure whether to be bemused or angry interference. The death of the informant was a minor thing, the loss of the information the informant knew was something else entirely. This single, brazen act of crazed, misplaced initiative, would likely set back the entire counter strike on Sadarii by weeks, maybe even a month. It occurred to him that she knew nothing, and probably took the known Krullian for exactly what he was.. an enemy, rather than an asset. Sighing in mixture of mirth and frustration, he took a step forward.

"That will be far enough," she said, coldly.

At this, he arched a single, dark brow, "How much do you know?" Clearly she knew nothing, the death of the informant proved that, if anything.

"Everything."

He found himself caught sidelong by this answer; the idea that she had done something so remarkably foolish intentionally seemed a bit farfetched, but not out of her nature. The fact that she was susceptible to dramatic changes in mood at a moments notice had not been something he hadn't taken note of. Though if she knew everything, she knew everything. There would be no need to explain.

He shrugged lightly, "Then I suppose there isn't much room for words?"

"I suppose not."

Her tone still bothered him, something was either being not touched on or entirely ignored. He would make a point to ask her about it, later. Pressing his thumb firmly down upon the weapon's hammer, he pulled the trigger, allowing him to slowly ease the metallic piece down to the firing pin manually. Rendering it no longer armed, though loaded. He was troubled by the fact that only a moment ago, it was honed upon her cloaked figure with the intent to kill.

"I removed the charge."

Now he knew her intent was malicious, she intended to kill him, for whatever perverse excuse her mind could muster. The entire idea that she "removed the charge" was preposterous, of course, considering that anybody who even remotely grew close to him, knew of his distaste for conventional blasters and preference for slugthrowers. Twelve rounds, twelve slugs, twelve chambers.. no charge.

He stared at her in simple distaste, his weapon hung at his side. Mentally he still refused to believe she was going through with this.

"I loved you, Troy, but you've changed into something that I cannot forgive," she said, solemnly.

Her red eyes met his, in an attempt to convey some domineering aspect of authority or judgment; but were no less than crushed in his gaze. Whatever words were spoken between the two at that moment, passed through some unnatural bond. A bond born of her draining his lifeforce; which he had willfully given, to save hers. With these silent, unspoken words said, the grey-eyed man turned on heel and faced the door.

"You have betrayed our Emperor, our cause, and everything that we stand for. For that, I find you guilty based on the undeniable evidence in my possession; and by the power vested in me by Brahlis Lydeck, I sentence you to die." From his perspective, it seemed like the words rolled off her tongue with relative ease.

With a shake of his head, he murmured, "You wouldn't."

By the time the words left his lips, he was already in pain. It seemed as if the very floor he was standing on had burst into an inferno, the rubber soles of his boots practically liquefied in the flash-combustion as they melded to his flesh. The General had been shot, stabbed, electrocuted, strangled, bludgeoned, poisoned, asphyxiated and mauled, but no word in the tongues of basic, Cheun or Serrocin could describe the agony he was in. Every nerve in his body cried out for mercy, begged to be delivered from this pain as the flames lapped up his legs and began to consume his torso.

He walked forward, though he was unable to feel anything below the waist. Somehow he managed to find himself appalled through the endless onslaught of pain as the smell of his own burning flesh reached his nostrils, though it didn't last. He sprawled forward as his legs buckled beneath him, that was when the agony, the true agony, began. A pain so consuming that you lose the ability to think, to breathe, to reason.

Your entire world is encapsulated in that very moment where all you feel, is pain.

Clenching his eyes shut, he attempted to keep himself from being blinded. Any tears evaporated instantly before the ducts themselves were seared beyond repair. His dark, ebony hair combusted. His brow, lashes and stubble were gone. He could feel the flames gnawing at his body, devouring it, immolating it. Every attempt to inhale and cry out in pain was rewarded with swallowing bits of his incinerated tongue and the harsh, unforgiving heat filling his lungs. He would keep his pride, even in death, even unintentionally.

A single hand clasped over his shut eyes, his fingers squeezing so tightly that for a moment the pain in his temple was greater than anything the flames could provide. Trying desperately, so desperately, to protect this one sense. His ability to see. His ears had burned away, he could no longer hear. His nose was burned away, he could no longer smell. His tongue was burned away, he could no longer taste. His nerves were burned away, he could no longer feel.

He could no longer feel?

It was true. The flames had ravaged his body to such an extent that he could no longer feel. It was at that moment, that Pollux realized he was going to die. By sheer force of will he forced himself to stand again, managing two steps, before being shoved by an unnatural energy across the room. His arm snapped away at the last moment to see Tel'ana, with her arms extended, pushing him out of the far window.

The glass was thick, but his body propelled through it with ease. He was certain a few larger pieces had found their mark, but even if they did, he couldn't feel them. Mortal wound upon mortal wound, it no longer mattered. Because he was falling.

Falling.

Falling.

His eyes scanned the sky, the Nogatan afternoon had given way to the night. The stars were out, and they were brilliant. He shut his grey eyes for a moment, thinking he should rest a bit before admiring them again.

Pollux died a hundred feet above Nogatan in the embrace of the air, before he could finally find the right words.


	2. Chapter 2

Darkness. The warm embrace of kolto brings with it the embrace of life itself. The dead man gropes blindly at his surroundings, frantic and ignorant as a newborn babe from a mother's womb. Everywhere the touch of glass is smooth under his fingers. He cannot escape the sensation that the warm, red liquid is smothering him, as it has had time to pool over the past several months in the sockets of his eyes, and the canals of his ears, rendering him both partially sightless and deaf.

In the span of an instant, a swarthy hand made contact with the glass encasing, causing a rippling spider-web of cracks on the upper portion of the tank, cracks which splintered and grew under the pressurized kolto. He clawed now, his fingers digging into the plastic mesh of the breathing apparatus at his mouth, filling his lungs with stale, processed air.. and it was with a great rip that snapped the elastic straps holding the devise to his head, that the man freed himself. In his blind folly he had nearly brought about his own death again, loosing what would of been an ear-splintering scream of rage, had it not been muffled by the gelled liquid which surrounded him. Instead, a number of dense bubbles spewed forth from his open mouth as he braced himself, heaving, against the far end of the shattered tank.

The scientific ward of the Stagnant Dawn, a heavy cruiser in its own right, was about to delve into chaos, unbekownst to the number of assistants on hand who worked with the placidness of a daily routine.

Without warning, a replicate tank among the number had cracked, leaking kolto that should have been quite clear, rather than crimson, had it not been stewing around little more than a bloody, charred hunk of flesh for the duration of its use. Kyla Halcyon had been a lab orderly a number of years now, a prestigious degree in her name was enough to earn her a position in several, reputable projects before her assigning on the Stagnant Dawn, but now the intelligent and well-spoken woman could do little but stare wide-eyed in terror at what was unfolding before her.

Making an abrupt about face, she ran dogedly through the rows of replicate tanks, sensitive medical equipment and operational gurneys, clutching a datapad to her heaving chest. Nothing but her own voice and footfalls against the sterile, artifical tile could be heard.

"Doctor Vonn! We have a situation in the second tier replicate wing!" Kyla's voice denoted her concern, as she called the length of the ward to a Duros that sat preoccupied with his reports.

It was obvious that the young assistant's sudden interlude had startled the geneticist, his pen having left a lengthly scribble on the durasheet on which he was writing, which was immediately followed by him throwing the writing utensil to the ground. The Doctor's voice was heavily-accented, basic being something new to him, but did nothing to hide his apparent irritation, "If the she-human is troubling me again without reason, expect her to no longer be working in my lab, yes?" Vonn brought his blue hands to his uniform, the white coat was sweaty at the lapels.

Kyla flinched visibly at the threat, swallowed lightly, but stayed resolute in the belief that what she had seen was no minor technicality, "Eight-zero-eight just factured on the second tier, Doctor."

"Eight-zero-eight?" Vonn turned his chair to a nearby terminal as he surveyed the screen intently, the Duros' eyes shifted from the viewscreen to his assistant. "That human, is impossible, eight-zero-eight was purged along with the rest of its echelon more than two standard months ago-" The sound of shattering glass resignated within the lab chamber.

The feeling was akin to being born; the lights were no less than blinding in the dead man's eyes. He knelt, quite nude, in a sickly stew of glass and crimson kolto. Bringing his hands to his face, he rubbed the sockets of his eyes, blinked once, and rubbed again. Everything was a nausiating collage of bright color and angular, geometic shapes that pulsated with the intensity of a star. Doubling-over, heaving, he wretched the contents of his stomach to the floor, nothing but a thick, grey nutrient paste that he had been force-fed the duration of his life.

Gradually; he could make out outlines and shapes. Followed in length by detail, color and hues. There were people. Standing. Watching. Whispering among one another with baited breath.

He arose slowly, rolling muscles that may well have been compacted durasteel, tensed and strained as his back stood ridged. The man took several steps, faultered, and leaned upon a forearm on the nearest cylinder of glass, something which he would later identify as a replicate tank. He was, however, more preoccupied with his own reflection. The figure that stared back at him was almost entirely foreign, to he himself. While in actuality he was the spitting likeness of the late, Pollux Troy.

No longer there, was the lengthly scar that adorned his face since childhood. Swarthy, healthy skin hand taken its place. As it had the rest of his battle-scars, which were non-existant. His hair had grown some, no longer in the traditional military-styled cut so common among enlisted and officers alike, but damp and matted against his head, sanguine kolto still dripping readily from the black strands. The grey-eyed man took note of himself on two accounts; his own reflection, and that of the figure within the the kolto tank, which was indeed, himself.

It was several moments before his mind fully took in the perversion that had taken place. The grey-eyed man staggered backwards several steps, as if to distance himself from the truth. It is a terrible thing, to have ones individuality stripped so suddenly, but far more terrible is to realize it.

A warm, feminine hand was placed upon the man's shoulder, "Do you remember your name, Praetor?"

The reaction was instant and for the most part, involuntary, for no sooner had the words murmured forth from the lips of the female compatriot, had the man's steel-thewed fingers interlocked in a vice-like grip around the woman's wrist. He regarded her with a level gaze, an act which she seemed to return. In a low, even tone, the man responded, "Pollux Troy, acting General of Nogatan's Imperial Legions, Serroco born." he seemed to pause momentarily, "I know nothing of this 'Praetor' you speak of, woman."

"General.." The woman repeated, incredulity clearly evident in her voice. Momentarily she turned to a Duros, who simply shook his head. This action had not gone unnoticed to the grey-eyed man, but its significance did. "..could you tell me your service number prior to becoming a senior officer? Your place of residence? Your cause of death?"

It troubled him to some extent that the woman was asking questions that had clearly gone on record, and the use of the word 'death' was something he had yet become accoustomed to. For now, however, he would humor her, "12-345-808, I recollect." He spoke as if the numbers hadn't been stripped from him.

"I have estate and land holdings on both Dagan and Nogatan, primarily Dagan, a stretch of land to the North and East that a Villa resides on." He spoke as if his assests hadn't been seized, liquidized and redistributed months ago.

The last question he refused to answer, or even denote that he heard. Assistant Halcyon didn't concern herself over this, however, she did concern over the fact that the man had complete recollection of every memory at his disposal, making this project, months of work, an entire wasted effort.


	3. Chapter 3

It had become apparent that he was hurting her, though she had said nothing of the sort, laxing his grip unto the point of relinquishing her wrist, she set about rubbing it with a free hand as she eyed him with a keen sense of curiosity.

His brow arched momentarily, "Where am I?" The first of many questions to form on his lips.

"The Stagnant Dawn, Honoghr system, and you.." Assistant Halcyon brought her hands to her shoulders, slipping off her white lab coat, which she held out in offering, "..are going to be needing this, Praetor." The tone she used was comparable to how one might address a child, and it irritated him to some extent, though he accepted her offer graciously.

His fingers worked with a certain deftness, knotting the arms of the coat into a makeshift belt about his waist in an effort to cover his nakedness. Assistant Halcyon meanwhile, had turned on heel and discussed things in length with Doctor Vonn, their hushed whispers not quite hushed over the ambient noise of the medical equipment. Whatever transpired was some kind of an arguement, as the Doctor raised his voice loud enough on two occasions to curse in his native Duros, a blue thumb jerked in the man's direction more often than not.

The dead man regarded his counterpart in the tank though half-closed lids, and presently, through eyes not unlike his own, his counterpart seemed to do the same.. before slipping back into whatever chemical-induced slumber was forced upon him, "..one awake before, the scans can only tell us so much-" he interjected abruptly, "Am I a clone, then?" his sorrow and confusion was apparent in voice alone. Kyla turned from her discussion with the Doctor, shaking her head lightly, "You are a replicate, Praetor. Every tenth consecutive even number forms a new echelon, every tank but one in that row uses synthetic copied tissue, a clone, as you say, of the tenth.. the replicate, you." The Doctor had stormed out of sight, and the young lab assistant had returned once again to his side.

"A replicate is made from the actual tissue of the host, in your case.. a rib." Kyla placed her hands upon her waist, gradually shifting her weight to a single foot, "We do this to weed out imperfections and the like, so no, in your case.. especially your case, you're not a clone, you simply.. are."

The dead man gazed at the woman with an unbroken intensity. "I'm afraid I don't understand the difference, what do you mean especially my case?"

"Row twelve.." Kyla noted the man shifting his gaze down the echelons before returning to her, he had counted eleven rows to his own in a glance, "..was as close to perfection as we have ever had, even moreso than we wanted, in fact. In life, the host's augments added certain DNA-binding proteins to his genetic makeup, irreplaceable proteins that have the bad habit of doing things we don't want. It has been an endless means of frustration for us, as while your augments no longer actively influence your body's natural healing abilities, they seem to have recessed to only preventing the brain's deterioration, ferociously, I might add." Assistant Halcyon smiled contentedly, seemingly ignorant of the way her words had impacted the man, and for the most part, she was exactly that.

It was several moments before the grey-eyed man could properly word a response, "And this inability for it to deteriorate, you found it bad, why?" his tone was low and even, lithe arms crossed at his chest.

"Praetor, Pollux knew things that-" He instantly and unceremoniously cut her off, "I am Pollux, damn you." it took every ounce of his being to keep from shouting the words. Kyla froze, momentarily taken aback, before motioning down the replicate and cloning rows, "You're no more him than they are, I fail to see how-" again he cut her off, "Memories make a person, madame. Memories, not flesh and blood, however of an exact match they may be." His gaze had turned to something akin to jagged ice, brutal and unwaivering. "Our benefactor wouldn't allow it, it isn't eth-" He snarled, "Ethical? Reasonable? Fair? It isn't what?" She shrunk from him, and had not the events that transpired that day taken place, she might have immediately requested transfer from the Stagnant Dawn and the Praetor project entirely, but fate, as it commonly does, had other things in mind.

Doctor Vonn had returned momentarily, with two armed and armoured men in suit, their insignias marked them as members of the Axiom military, "Be taking this one, men, to the operational room." Vonn motioned to Troy with a wave of his hand, Kyla, knowing all too well what would happen, instantly protested at his behest, "Doctor, it isn't necessary, lobotomizing our prime replicate doesn't get us anywhere." Vonn paid her no heed, "The he-human, take him.." The armoured guards enclosed upon him at either side, gripped each of his arms roughly, and forcefully ushered him to a nearby room.

The smell of the room alone was rank with death, and the image of his own carcass, gutted clean of innards and skull cleaved in two, came to mind. And perhaps that was closer to the truth than he might have realized, but a lone operational gurney flanked on either side by the most malicious medical equipment he had layed eyes on in this life or his former gave him some idea.

"Stereotactic craniotomy to start on this one, though I don't expect the he-human to tell us any more than we already know." Vonn spoke with a resigned sigh, as he washed his hands in a sink adjacent to the gurney, of which the armoured men had forced the grey-eyed man into a sitting position on, Pollux could hear Vonn behind him, fiddling with his medical instruments that had crippled, maimed and killed more often than they had saved. The Duros was at his side now, a lengthly syringe in hand, "Let's begin."

"Let's.." In the span of an instant, Pollux had forcefully gripped the pistol of one of the guards and fired it in the holster, the round splintering the man's foot and boot into fragments. He had ripped himself from the second man's grasp just as his weapon was drawn, relieving the former guard of his pistol, a swarthy arm gripped the Doctor about the neck, who in his panic had dropped the syringe.

"Don't shoot, the Praetor has Vonn!" Assistant Halcyon, who had come in to offer final words of protest, had watched the entire ordeal play out. Her chest heaved as Vonn felt the chill of the barrel at his temple.


	4. Chapter 4

The cries of agony from the guardsman on the ground reached an almost constant, steady pitch, as he clutched the shredded remains of his foot, the second however, kept his weapon honed on the grey-eyed man and his Duros hostage. Pollux held the pistol in hand, pushing it firm against the alien's skull, "I'd like to speak with your Captain, if you don't mind."

"I..I.." Vonn began, only to have his voice caught in his throat. Pollux arched an unseen brow, for his head was safely behind the Duros' own, before the realization washed upon him.

"My, my.. isn't this fortuitus!" That swarthy arm the Doctor had come to know all too well, tightened about his neck. "You're the captain, aren't you? You must be quite the big man on campus, my friend, a Doctor who's the captain of his own ship and to think, I had you pegged for a sadistic monster." The grey-eyed man let out an over-exaggerated sigh, "You think you know people, but I digress. That man of yours is making me uncomfortable, Doctor, tell him to put his weapon down and slide it over to the door or I might do something foolish." This last word he stressed heavily.

The words came from Vonn as a choking, exhasperated scream, "Do.. do what he says, I beg of you!"

"I'd listen to the man, he's got a good head on him, hate for him to lose it, hm?" His tone was probably more coy than he had intended, but the effect wasn't wasted at any rate. Begrudgingly, the armored Axiom militant lowered his weapon, before dropping it on the floor entirely and kicking it over to the lone door in the operational room, where Assistant Halcyon stood. Gradually the grey-eyed vagabond moved both himself and his hostage towards the doorway, he was meticulous in his keeping of the Doctor between the three of them.

It was only once he was a good two paces outside of the doorway that he fired several rounds into the fire suppressant system on the far wall, the magseal doors shutting and auto-locking before either of the two men trapped inside had time to react. He was safe in the knowledge that the system could only be unlocked on the bridge, and as luck would have it, that was exactly where he needed to go. Pocketing the second blaster at his waist, Troy pushed the doctor ahead of him, instructing the Duros to lead him to the bridge on the usual threats of both pain and death, Assistant Halcyon, who had not been sealed inside the operational room with the other two men, was instructed to join them.

The pair argued amongst themselves as they lead Pollux through a network of rooms and corridors, though a well placed round between the two of them was enough to prompt silence. It was becoming more and more apparent to the man that this cruiser was indeed, a science vessel, as he had only seen several lab orderlies and assistants of Kyla's caliber and higher.. all of which fled or hid at the sight of a conscious Praetor carrying a pistol.

Momentarily they had had arrived at their intended destination, staffed by a lone Bridge officer, whom Pollux relieved of his clothes and sent scurrying away. Donned in an Imperial flight jacket; a loose fitting shirt, a pair of trousers and uniform boots half a size too small, the grey-eyed man preoccupied himself with the nav-computer.

Vonn grinned inwardly, in his mind it was more than likely that the Praetor was planning a hyperspace jump to Kessel, probably jump ship with the miners, it was of no concern, he would contact his benefactor and reclaim his property, it was only a matter of time, really. Vonn was wrong. For though the Praetor had indeed put in hyperspace coordinates, they were within the local system, leaving the Doctor utterly bewildered beyond the point of confusion. Even worse yet, that man-demon was ushering them to the escape pods.. was the replicate insane? Vonn did not understand, but he soon would.

It was with a great deal of coercion, that Pollux did force both Doctor and assistant into the escape pod, which he joined. Presently they ejected into the void of space, as the Duro chuckled to himself, building into an outright fit of laughter, he seemed to be completely beside himself, "You really are a fool, you know that? They'll call for aid, ships will be scrambled from nearby systems, they'll pick us up from drifting.. and you'll be no better off than you were before, Praetor." A canine grin highlighted the alien's features, his cowardice seemingly having vanished in an instant.

"Oh?" the grey-eyed man arched a brow, his figure one of grim indifference as his arms crossed. Over his shoulder, Vonn and Kyla watched out the small viewing port with expressions ranging from outright horror to mute shock as the Stagnant Dawn prepared to entire hyperspace, before launching itself into the nearby sun, Pollux having commited suicide on a mass scale, and asserted his individuality.


	5. Chapter 5

Vonn was jabbering wildly, gnawing the tips of his fingers raw, a commonplace among Duros suffering panic attacks. His entire livelihood; his ship, his lab, staff and project had been utterly wiped from existance in a moments notice. Everything he had ever valued relegated from an "is" to a "was" before the realization even fully hit him, he was done for. Kyla simply sat motionless in the same seat she had taken when they boarded the escape pod, completely in shock at the events that had transpired and the loss of her colleagues.

The grey-eyed member of the trio had set about preoccupying himself with the pod's simple manual controls, directing their course to the nearest planetoid, Honoghr, though it would still be several hours before they arrived. Kyla chimed in after several moments passed, "You.. you killed all those people." At first she wasn't certain that he had heard her, with his back facing her and obscuring the navigation controls. She sat limp-wristed in her seat, before starting again, her voice hoarse, "Those people, you killed-"

"Yes, I heard you the first time." He had not so much as looked over his shoulder, "How many, exactly?" A swarthy hand gripped a simple throttle lever to his right, the pod docked slightly and shifted to it's intended destination.

Kyla was taken aback, "Well over a hundred, at least."

"Then I suppose I could save well over a hundred lives, couldn't I?" His tone was musing, a matter-of-fact statment said with too much idleness. The young brunette nearly choked in response, "You can't try to justify something like that!" She wanted to scream at him, to vent the loss of her colleagues, though it was unlikely that she could have called any of them friends.

Several hours had passed, at least Vonn thought several hours had passed, and under his state of mind, minutes might well have been hours. Both the humans were asleep, specifically the he-human, who lay sprawled out on five of the six seats on his side of the pod. How Vonn hated him, and had a blunt object been within reach, he may have undoubtedly overcome his cowardice to try and bludgen Troy in his sleep, but there was none. In Duros folklore there was talk of personal demons come to life, that would take from a man what he valued most, were his sins so great? The Doctor's ink black mind worked in circles, though never did he place himself at fault.

He stood up, as if about to take action, but sat down again. His loss had made his brilliant mind weak, and he would spend the duration of the trip talking to himself under his breath.

Kyla awoke momentarily, her small figure curled against the uncomfortable arm rest of her seat. She clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn as she looked around, weary eyed from stress and poor sleep. Standing slowly, she cringed at the pins and needles sensation in the arm she had been sleeping on as she walked to a small, forward hatch next to the navigational systems, inside the compartment was a weeks worth of rations and a basic medpac. Whoever had stocked these pods back on the Stagnant Dawn was clearly privy to breaking galactic law, half the supplies the compartment should have included weren't even there, leave it to Vonn for such an oversight.

Taking a small amount of rations for herself, she returned to her seat. It was doubtful Vonn would eat at all in his current condition, and upon asking him, her assumption was correct. The nutrient bars left a chalky taste in her mouth, and the ration cube was.. well.. tasteless, Kyla's jaw worked slowly as her gaze traveled to the man across from her. For the past few months her life had revolved around the project, and she found it unsettling that the only result was the living, breathing person that slumbered but a few feet away.

Was he anything like the late Pollux Troy? Maybe. Appearance-wise he was identical or a very good doppelganger in life, the very same figure in the holovids of hundreds of goose-stepping men and women. His personality and psychologial health, with every memory and experience at his disposal, were also more than likely spot on. Apparently this did not extend to his habitual deathstick addiction, however, which undoubtedly would have killed him at a young age, and in that respect, he was younger now. Being twenty-three at the time of his death twenty-one at rebirth. Kyla troubled herself with such thoughts as an ambient blue light, not without a greenish tint to it, enveloped the pod interior.

"Praetor..", the grey-eyed man awoke to a familiar, feminine hand at his shoulder. Kyla stood above him, wide-eyed, as she motioned to the viewing port. Pollux arose in a fluid motion, clasping his hands together and arching his back in a stretch as he cocked his head slightly to see what she had motioned at. And for the first time, he gazed upon the jungle world of Honoghr.

The entire planet was a mix of dense greens and oceanic blues, the epitome of everything that is life. From this stellar point of view, they could see the tropical storms that raged on the continental coasts, as well as the sparse deserts and rolling plains that would occasionally break the dense jungle. It was beautiful, to say the least.

Slight tremors, building in intensity, wracked the small escape pod as it skimmed the uppermost atmosphere of the jungle world.


	6. Chapter 6

These tremors built to a pitch, until the escape pod was both spiraling and tumbling with a speed that caused its armored hull to glow with the heat of reentry. Both Pollux and Kyla were sensibly strapped into their respective seats, Vonn, in his madness, refused Kyla's protests and was tossed every which direction. At one point during the crash, Pollux later recollected the Duros pinned to the upper portion of the pod's ceiling, screaming until it seemed his lungs would burst as the sheer force of gravity held him in place.

If someone were to hold a blowtorch into a strong wind, it would only marginally recreate the sound the trio heard upon their descent, a deep-seated rumble that threatened to tear the craft apart bolt for bolt and the aerodynamic heating, a form of forced convection, lit the outer hull up like some absurd star. The grey-eyed man clenched his eyes shut and turned his head away from the viewing port, the sudden bright light was enough to cause flash burn and blindness if stared at long enough. Kyla did the same, quite certain she was going to be sick, Vonn simply screamed as he was tossed starboard to port and every which direction in between.

Presently the rumble was replaced by a sharp whistle, a metallic twang rang out from somewhere outside and the thought occured to Pollux that some part of the escape pod had either been sheared off or jostled loose. He grit his teeth to keep them from clattering as the pod was effectively shaking beyond control now, he felt two objects slip from his waistline and sent careening, the dual pistols he had relinquished from the guards of the medical ward on the Stagnant Dawn. They flew about now just as Vonn did, and were joined momentarily by the contents of the emergency hatch, nutrient bars and ration cubes were tossed about wildly. Kyla made a retching sound above the Duros' yelling, though nothing became of it.

One of the pistols fired, having clipped the corner of something, sending a single bolt into the starboard viewing port just shy of the young lab assistant and creating a spiraling, web of cracks. By the grace of whatever gods the swarthy man paid deference to, it held. The round had pierced no more than an inch into the crystalline glass, had it been an inch more, it would go without saying that each of them would be dead.

All at once the bright light dissipated, leaving only a milky white jet stream that melded into the thick clouds which they seemed to be passing at a nauseating rate. A hiss not unlike dropping heated iron into cold water. The sound of splintering wood followed by a great splash. And all at once every loose object in the pod was sent careening forward, Vonn included. An inky darkness enveloped the interior, broken by shafts of gleaming light as the vessel came to rest, quite softly, on a rich mound of sediment strewn with vibrant algae and river stone. Dim overhead lights flickered to livelyhood momentarily, contrasting the darkness outside, as the trio collected themselves.

Kyla was quite pale, and deep seated lines not seen before the crash were visible under her eyes. Vonn could have been compared to a walking Duros pulp, his entire body was riddled with large bruses, cuts and scratches, all of which were superficial. Pollux took several moments to collect himself, his fingers drifting to the bronze buckler at his chest which held him in place, before slipping from the trappings of his seat. He shifted his gaze to Kyla, "Are you alright?" this inquiry of concern was met with either a glare or a frown, he wasn't exactly sure, "Hm, well.. I thought as much."

Peering outside brought him no great surprise, although some part of him had hoped it wouldn't be the case. What they had landed in wasn't deep enough to be called a lake, and was far too still.. to that extent, the water didn't run at all and it held a very distinct murk to it. They were in fact, in a swamp.

"As much as I dislike the notion, we're-" The grey-eyed fellow turned to see Vonn standing at the opposite end of the escape pod, blaster pistol in hand, "-going to have to.." he trailed off. All at once his visage turned into something brutal and unwaivering, the corner of his mouth curled into something akin to a snarl, a single white canine was bared. The muzzle flashed and with it came a searing spear of pain that wracked the man's body, the bolt having cleaved clean through the upper muscle of his deltoid. Pollux slumped against the metal bulkhead, his face one of contorted pain as Vonn grasped the durasteel lever of the escape hatch, pulling wildly in his panic.

"Vonn, please don't!" But it was far too late, the crazed Duros had wrested the lever clockwise.. water was bubbling in at an alarming rate, a light brown from the silt that was being forced in with the influx of water, it wasn't long before Vonn himself had slipped through the metal hatch and into the murky depths.

There was a slight skittering sound, almost entirely drowned out by the rushing water, as Vonn worked his way up and around the small craft. From inside, the pair watched as Vonn kicked wildly up to the surface.. he was a good swimmer, surprisingly, yet even has he swam, a shadow built behind him. Large and cord-like, whipping in the murk. As it neared, Pollux could make out features. It was, as they say, a predator of the depths. The closest thing he could compare it to would be an eel. It snaked forth, seemingly curious as to this little blue thing that had invaded its waters. Hairlike bristles covered the beast's body, swaying.. swaying in the murk. All along the creature's spine appeared to be nettles, or barbs of some sort, which folded smoothly against its scales.

At this point in time, Vonn must have seen this eel-like creature approach, because he seemed to be attempting to literally flail his way to the surface. Vonn would never live to reach it, though. The barbs upon the great eel's back extended with a fleshy membrane, as sharp and menacing as spears, as the bristles upon its mouth retracted. What they revealed were teeth that could only be compared to serrated knives, the kind of teeth that send people reeling in their nightmares. Lurching forward with a surprising speed, Vonn indeed found himself in just that, a living nightmare. For no matter how much he thrashed forward with every once of strength his body could spare, no matter how quckly he kicked.. the great eel gained upon him.

Vonn thrashed until it seemed his lungs would burst, he reached to his thigh to remove a clump of native seaweed but simply brushed - nothing. Because his leg was gone, great eel had wrapped its grotesque tongue around it and severed it clean off, ragged chunks of flesh and fat hung from the stump in which he was losing blood at an alarming rate, his one good leg stirring up a cloud of his bodily fluid around him in an awkward kick. He opened his mouth to scream, but only felt the painful, constricting rush of water seize his lungs. Again the creature's maw of serrated death opened, halving Vonn, who only wished the pain would stop and the sweet embrace of death would soon come. Though it wouldn't, not nearly soon enough at any rate.

Kyla screamed, a continuous, unbroken sound as the grey-eyed man slid to the floor of the escape pod, legs spread-eagled and back against the bulkhead.. and already the water was touching the heel of his boots.


	7. Chapter 7

"Praetor! He.." Kyla swallowed lightly and kneeled next to the man, a scorched wound on his shoulder trickled a small trail of blood from its epicenter, "..he shot you, oh goddess, it's serious isn't it?" She instinctively clasped her hand over the wound, though Pollux clinched his teeth in response and motioned her hand away with a shake of his head. It had cauterized for the most part and the bleeding it did offer was minimal, nothing too serious, but it would need to be treated later.

He denoted the fear in the woman's eyes, it was apparent and it was there for good reason, but there was something else. Something, however unspoken it might be, that was still prevalent.

"I'll be fine," he assured her "we have more pressing concerns than a flesh wound on my part." Bog water had risen to the shank of his boot, spilling inwards, and it was warm.. as he would come to find nearly all the tides on the jungle moon were. Massive, fist sized bubbles of compressed oxygen still influxed inward from the open hatch, continuing its deadly trade of air for more water. It would be impossible to close now, and even if they could, it didn't change matters. If they were going to do anything, they needed to do it now, "Kyla.."

She focused on him intently as he motioned to the sunken control panel at the adjacent end of the pod, several ration cubes floated and clumped together like absurd little rafts in a shimmering sea of light brown. He directed in a low, even tone, "..the medpac."

Kyla blinked rapidly, "The medpac? Yes, yes I'll find it." she arose from his side and waded into the rising water at the far end of the escape pod, her hands groping blindly under its surface for the small, white box that had apparently sunk with its contents. Though she had begun to grow desperate after the first minute, her efforts were rewarded when her fingers smooth plasteel, drawing the box from below the seat fixated in front of the control panel which now blinked with warnings of water intake, as if that wasn't readily apparent.

Returning to him, she held out the case with the bold red cross, which he nodded at with approval, "You're looking for a syringe, the cap should be bright yellow, maybe blue." the grey-eyed man brought his right leg up and scooted further backwards, pressing himself against the bulkhead while Kyla fumbled with the clasps of the wet plastic case.

When she did open it, she rifled through its contents quickly; several disposable scalpels, packets of gauze, thread and needle, anti venom, an emergency splint.. and a number of other things that weren't syringes before she found what she was looking for in a small, separate case in the far right corner, no wider than a thumb, "There isn't a bright yellow syringe, there's one with a dark blue cap and several red." she exclaimed.

"That's the one," he retorted simply, "give it to me."

She removed the small case, sliding the syringe from its inner foam capsule where its label was revealed to her, "Epinephrine? You want me to give you a full shot of epinephrine? This is meant for cardiac arrest."

"It can be put to good use, now please, if you will.." At this he wrapped his own wrist in a vice-like grip and tensed his forearm, flexing and straining the lean slab of muscle until his veins began to protrude under the skin in stark contrast of their smooth contours. Kyla brought the syringe eye-level, pressed down on the applicator to purge it of any air, flicked it once, and injected it into a dark vein upon the uppermost portion of his arm. Raw epinephrine, also known as adrenaline, flowed into his system in quantities the body could not create. The water had reached his knees now, submerging his seated form above the thigh. Kyla had meanwhile discarded the used syringe with a flick of her hand into the deep end, where it floated, point down, a matching buoy for the awkward boats of rations.

To say the sensation that washed over him was a gradual one would be a lie, it was instantaneous and consuming in the utmost, the fluid had met the steady beat of his heart and spread throughout his body in every direction. He wanted to fight, to mate, to run until his lungs were crushed from exhaustion, anything so long as he wasn't sitting down. Every muscle ached and begged to be put to work by his mind, he was a slave to the sensation.

The grey-eyed man stood in a fluid motion, arched his back and ignored the malicious pain in his shoulder, because there was no pain. His body was in a metaphysical shock that couldn't be undone until he did something to sate these primal desires that consumed him.

"Take what you can, we're leaving." he directed as he waded to the far end of the pod, the water now reached to his upper torso.

"Praetor, I.." she faltered, "I can't swim."

"Scusi?" He shook his head lightly, "I'll do my best to swim for the both of us, then."

Kyla did as was suggested, and waded out to meet him by the compromised hatch. She was a good foot shorter than he, maybe more, and was almost submerged almost to the tops of her shoulders. Pollux had meanwhile pocketed something from the emergency locker, whose door was still flung ajar, and tucked it into his waistband under the surface of the water.

"I take it you're ready then?" Pollux asked, her answer being to simply jump upon his back, a single arm clung tightly about his neck, while the other held the plasteel container to his chest. A warm, moist pressure built against his cheek.

Her chin rested upon his shoulder, "Don't think anything of it."

"Oh, I didn't plan on." He cast something akin to a smirk over his shoulder, and after much coaxing, the duo inhaled and slipped beneath the surface, never again to lay eyes on the last piece of physical evidence that the Stagnant Dawn ever existed.

Gripping the open hatch at the lip, Pollux forced themselves both down and out. His hands, ever searching. Smooth river stone of the finest white was broken by clumps of dense, underwater plants and strewn as far as the eye could see. A pair of native bog crab fought for dominance in the nearby reeds, schools of luminescent fish swam hither and thither among the algae coated roots of great trees. Everywhere life was abundant, and everywhere death lurked around the next corner with the promise of humbling your newfound place upon the food chain. The jungles of Honoghr were primordial and its waters were no different.

With smooth, even strokes, Pollux sliced through the water, directing them to a nearby boma tree which dug its tangled mass of roots into the fine silt below. It was then that it happened. He felt Kyla dig the nails of her right hand into the meat of his shoulder, desperately trying to get his attention, turning his head to the right, he sighted the approach of a shadow. Cord-like, whipping in the murk with the practiced ease only a predator would know. The great eel had scented something new in her waters. Was that a hint of blood which the currents had flowed in her direction? What other curiosity would she find by the boma tree where she kept her clutch of eggs? Perhaps it was another one of those bitter blue things, which squirmed and thrashed as they went down. But no, this was different.

Its scent was far more alluring.

He could see the surface now, the broken rays of sunlight cast their brilliance through the canopy above. If only they could reach it. Though Kyla was gaining more frantic, she beat upon his chest rapidly, he was well aware she was divulging in her own way how close the creature was getting. And just when her warning had reached a feverish climax, he reached to the small of his back, brushing her thigh in the process and removing something from his waistband, turned, and fired it into the open maw of the creature a relative ten feet away. A bright, red flare sent smoldering into the aquatic creature's mouth.

Even stranger yet, the creature seemed to be screaming. Not in the vocal sense, but in the heads of the duo, it was a sound that resinated in the back of the mind and built into an aching pitch.

Pollux discarded the flare gun as soon as he had fired it, not willing to wait about to see if it got the intended results, the orange signal gun would sink to the depths, where it would remain for the rest of eternity undisturbed, save for a family of barnacles.

Twelve more strokes and the pair had broken the surface, breathing the unspoiled air with no small measure of gratitude. Clawing his way up the lower branches that dipped their green-tinted leaves into the warm water, Kyla slid from his back into her own cluster, gasping as her once styled hair clung to her figure in a damp, brunette sheet.


End file.
